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^A Knot of 



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A Knot of White Ribbon 



A Comedy in One Act 



BY 



ALICE C. THOMPSON 

Author of "THE RETURN OF LETTY," MISS SUSAN'S 
FORTUNE." etc. 




PHILADELPHIA 

THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY 

1910 



St3^^'? 



Copyright 1910 by The Penn Publishing Company 



A Knot of White Ribbon 

(gGi.D 22569 



A Knot of White Ribbon 



CHARACTERS 



Miss Esther Farling. * 

Marjorie Brant Her niece 

LiBBiE An old servant 

I 

Time in Representation : — Thirty minutes. 



COSTUMES 

Esther. Any sort of quiet winter house dress will do. 
She should be about forty. 

Marjorie. Winter outdoor costume. Wears furs, muff, 
hat, gloves at entrance. She is not over twenty. 

LiBBiE. Plain black dress and white apron. Sixty, and 
of very neat, prim appearance. 



PROPERTIES 

Clock, candlesticks, book, a poker, teapot, tray, cups and 
s Ulcers, a small trunk, an old curtain, old quilt, pen and 
ink, writing paper, a light blue gown made in old-fashioned 
style, with a knot of old white ribbon at the waist on one 

side. 



A Knot of White Ribbon 



SCENE. — An old-fashioned parlor. At l. is a fireplace, 
on mantel a clock and two tall candlesticks holding candles. 
In front of fire an artnchair, at R. c. a rocking-chair, a 
small high back chair, a small table and a little old trunk 
or chest. A fire is burning on the hearth. Entrances 
at c. and down l. and R. 

( The curtain rises to discover Miss Esther Farling seated 
in front of fire. Her gray hair is done simply, her 
dress is dainty and picturesque rather than fashionable. 
She bends over a book. ) 

{Enter Libbie, i..) 

LiBBiE. Shall I turn on the light, ma'am ? 

Esther. Not yet, Libbie. I like the twilight. Is it 
snowing ? 

Libbie. There's a flurry of snow, and it's right cold. Is 
Miss Marjorie coming to-night ? 

Esther. Oh, yes, I expect her soon. 

(Libbie kneels, takes poker and attends to fire.) 

Libbie. Then we must have it good and warm for her. 
It's the young folks cheer us up, and the best we can do is 
look after 'em. 

Esther. Oh, Libbie, you've always spoilt Marjorie. 

Libbie. I reckon I'm not the only one. 

Esther. I hope I haven't really spoilt her. Oh, I'm 
sure she is not spoilt ; she is always so thoughtful of every 
one. But it's quite true, I would give up anything — yes, I 
would give up the thing dearest to me — for Marjorie. 

Libbie {rising'). It's not to be wondered at. When you 
come to think of it, there's something about an orphan that's 
deserving of more than ordinary folk. With all the aunties 
and old nurses to look after 'em, you always have a feelin' 



6 A KNOT OF WHITE RIBBON 

there's something they lack. It's like a hen that's hatched 
out duck's eggs. For all her scratchin' and fussin' for the 
ducklings, you know she ain't the real mother, and when 
they take to the water she can't follow 'em. 

Esther. Ah, if all orphans were as well looked after as 
Marjorie ! 

LiBBiE. Well, she hasn't got the home we had when we 
were young. A city's no place to grow up in. 

Esther. Dear Roseville. I can never forget it. The 
dear old vine-covered house, the garden and the orchard. 
Sometimes I'm sorry we left it. 

LiBBiE. I know I've often wished myself back in that 
big sunny kitchen with the smell of the apple blossom com- 
ing in at the open windy. 

Esther. Ah, but I couldn't have stayed on there with 
nothing but memories. ... It would have been too 
hard. My greatest regret is that Marjorie has never seen 
the old home. 

LiBBiE {with a sigh). It can't be the same place, with 
strange folk livin' in it. And that reminds me. (^Goes 
to R. c.) Here's the trunk you wanted brought down 
from the attic. It's been there ever since we packed it in 
Roseville and came away — eighteen years ago. (Esther 
rises.) Shall I open it? 

Esther. Yes, do. I thought I might find some old lace 
for Marjorie. ( Goes to Libbie. ) 

LiBBiE {kneeling). It's that stiff — the catch is rusty. 
{Opens it.) What's this? {Brings out curtain.) Well, 
I declare if it ain't one of your Grandmother Webb's 
tapestry curtains. I can jist see the mate of it now hangin' 
at the parlor door. 

Esther {eagerly). So it is, yes. {Takes curtain, 
handling it tenderly.) Dear me, how the years have gone. 

Libbie. And here's the bed-spread your Aunt Rachel 
worked for 

Esther. For my wedding day. I remember. 

{Holds the bed-spread to her cheek, then puts it aside on 
chair.) 

Libbie. What's this? Why, it's one of your dresses — 
one you wore when you were a girl, like Miss Marjorie. 

Esther. Let me see. (Libbie rises, holding up dress.) 
A little blue gown. 



A KNOT OF WHITE RIBBON 7 

LiBBiE. I helped you sew on it. Don't you remember? 

Esther. Yes, now I remember. The dear liitle blue 
gown. Oh, it must have been lonely in there all these 
years. 

LiBBiE. It's a livin' wonder the moths ain't eat it up. 

Esther. No, the trunk is full of lavender and cam pin n-. 
Just smell it, Libbie, isn't it sweet? It brings back my 
youth to me. 

Libbie {looking in trunii). But there's no lace in here. 

Esther. No, I shall have to look in the attic myself tor 
it. {Holds up the blue gown. ^ See, Libbie, the pretty knot 
of white ribbon at the belt. 

Libbie. It looks to me like there should be another on 
this side. 

Esther. Perhaps so. It dropped off, I suppose. {Ex- 
amines dress.) But no, I'm sure I didn't lose it — I seem 
to recall — ah, yes, of course I know where it went. It 
was Richard Mortimer who cut it off. {Softly.^ And the 
day I wore the little blue gown for the first time — I 
promised to become his wife. 

(Esther /«/.y gown on chair at r. c, and sits near fire.') 

Libbie. Ah, Miss Esther, 'twas a sad pity you had that 
quarrel, if I may say so. And you've never laid eyes on 
him all this long time. 

Esther. Never, and it's twenty-one years ago. Sit 
down, Libbie, I feel I want to talk to you to-night. 
(Libbie sits near her.) That little gown seems to have 
brought things back. Blue was his favorite color — I re- 
member he told me so, years ago. 

Libbie. I've sometimes wondered why you've never 
spoke about him — if only to ease your mind. And Mi^s 
Marjorie doesn't know. 

Esther. No, I haven't told her. 

Libbie. You've kept a brave heart, Miss Esther. 

Esther. Marjorie is such a child, and will always be a 
child to me, I think. 

Libbie. Child ! She's a young woman, near twenty ; 
and if I'm not much mistaken she has her own mind bent 
on matrimony. 

Esther. You mean Mr. Jack? A boy and girl affair. 
Besides, they've quarreled. 



8 ' A KNOT OF WHITE RIBBON 

LiBBiE. Oh — quarreled. {Scornfully.^ They've quar- 
reled before — and made it up again a dozen times. 

Esther {smiling sadly). In just the foolish way we 
used to do ourselves — only I never had a chance to make 
mine up, when I most wanted to. 

LiBBiE. She told me she don't hke Mr. Jack's red hair. 
It's curious the reasons there be that keep a promising girl 
from marrying. 

Esther. Indeed, that's true. I've often wondered why 
you didn't marry that nice young baker who came to see 
you years ago in Roseville. You remember him, Libbie, 
I'm sure. He had such rosy cheeks and always a dab of 
flour on the end of his nose. 

Libbie. Yes, I remember him well, nose and all. I'll 
tell you why I didn't marry him — though it's something 1 
don't like to think of. 

Esther. Confide in me, Libbie. Your secret is safe. 

Libbie {smiling grimly). It's a very good reason, Miss 
Esther. He never asked me. 

Esther. Oh, Libbie, how disappointing. But then 
there was another who came later. I think he squinted — 
a little. 

Libbie. 'Tis polite to say a little. I never knew if he 
was lookin' at me or up at the corner of the ceiling. But I 
was willin' to get used to that. 

Esther. I'm sure he wanted you. 

Libbie. Yes'm, but there's many a slip, as they say. 
One summer's night when we went buggy-ridin' he was jist 
on the point of lettin' loose, as you might say, when the 
buggy upsot. 

Esther. Oh, poor Libbie ! 

Libbie. It made me good and mad, I can tell you, but 
not as mad as the next time. 

Esther. Did he try again ? 

Libbie. He did, poor Amos, and 'twas in the parlor of 
the Widow Scrubbins' house where we was asked to tea on 
a Sunday. We was jist gittin' along fine and I was picturin' 
myself in a white gown with a lace veil, when — oh, I'll 
never forget it as long as I live. 

{Buries face in hands.) 

Esther. Good gracious, Libbie, what happened ? 
Libbie. The door opens sudden and the Widow Scrub- 



A KNOT OF WHITE RIBBON 9 

bins bursts in with this, " Do you like your pancakes fried 
in lard or in drippin's ? " I renieuiber her very words, and 
I've hated pancakes and red-haired people ever since. She 
had red hair. 

Esther. Poor Amos, fate was against him. And so 
that was the end of it. 

LiBBiE. Oh, Amos was fairly persistin', and he took an- 
other chance. This time 'twas in my sister Ellie's back 
setlin'-room where that little furrin clock was that Uncle 
Ez brought her back from Europe. Well, poor Amos was 
coming along grand. He was jist a-goin' to put his arm 
round my waist when that cussed little bird — 'scuse me, 
ma'am — hopped out and says, " Cuckoo, Cuckoo, Cuckoo," 
no less'n twelve times. Sister Elbe comes in and says she, 
" I think there's something has gone wrong with it inside." 
"Oh, bust it! " says Auios, and he wouldn't even stay to 
supper. Next week he went over to Petersville and mar- 
ried Sally Larkins. Life's a queer thing. Sometimes it 
seems to me like a mess o' pickle, all short ends mixed up 
in mustard. {Rises and goes to R. C.) Shall I put these 
things back in the trunk? 

Esther. No — wait a minute. {Rises arid goes to her.') 
I want to have another look at them. (Picks up dress.) 
Libbie, I wonder if I could wear this now? 

LiBBiE. No, no, Where's the use ? 

Esther. But just to try it on, Libbie. There's no harm 
in that. I will. {Goes to L. ivith gown over ami.) Oh, 
who's that? {Enter Marjorie Brant, c. She wears 
winter costume 7oith furs, and there are S7iowflakes on her 
hair. Esther hastily tosses gown on chair.) Marjorie ! 

Marjorie. Yes, here I am back home. {Kisses her.) 
And Libbie. {Takes her hands.) Oh, what a snow-storm. 
1 thought I'd never get here. 

{Shakes snow from clothing. Libbie helps her off with 
furs and jacket.) 

Esther. Welcome, dear. You look like a snowbird. 
Oh, how glad I am to have you back. 

Marjorie. Three weeks away. Has it seemed a long 
time? I've enjoyed myself so much. 

Libbie. Indeed, Miss Marjorie, it's seemed more like a 
year. I'm right glad to see you back. Let me take your 
things into the kitchen to dry off. Then I'll make you a 



10 A KNOT OF WHITE RIBBON 

cup of tea and you can have it in here all cozy by the 
fire. 

Marjorie. Oh, thank you, Libbie, you are good to me. 

{Exit L., with furs, etc.') 

Esther {tenderly). Well, dear, come and tell me all 
about your gay doings. 

{Draws her to fire, and they sit.) 

Marjorie {enthusiastically). Oh, I've had a perfect 
time. Every one was so kind. Katherine wanted me to 
stay longer, but I thought two weeks long enough, as I 
simply had to stop off for a week at Aunt Clara's on my 
way home. 

Esther. And how is Aunt Clara ? 

Marjorie. Very well. She sent her love. It was 
quieter there than at Katherine's, of course, but I enjoyed 
it. Katherine gave a dance for me. It was perfect. 

Esther. And did you make lots of friends — as you al- 
ways do ? 

Marjorie {confidentially). Yes, and one in particular'. 
Such a handsome, clever man. He's not young, but aw- 
fully popular — and wealthy. I tell you I felt quite flattered 
at being singled out by him. And, Aunt Esther, I may as 
well confess, I'm afraid I — flirted a little. 

Esther. Oh, Marjorie, Marjorie, how could you ? I 
thought you had given that up. And have you forgotten 
poor Jack? {Smiles.) 

Marjorie. Jack ! When I compare the two. Jack 
seems such a boy. And besides, his hair is red — carroty 
red. And you know I hate red hair. 

Esther {laughing softly). Why, you're as bad as Lib- 
bie. And why this unreasonable prejudice against red hair ? 

Marjorie. Well, haven't you noticed, Aunt Esther, 
that all red-haired men are over-confident? Jack seemed to 
think 

Esther. Well, what ? 

Marjorie. Oh, nothing — he doesn't care a thing for 
me anyway — not a thing. 

Esther. And are you going to see this new friend 
again ? 

Marjorie. Oh, yes, he's coming to see me — he said, 
very soon. I hope you will like him. But I'm sure you 



A KNOT OF WHITE RIBBON II 

will — every one does. And though he's been away for 
years, living out in wild places and among savage people, 
it hasn't seemed to roughen him at all. 

Esther (a Utile anxiously). A bachelor? 

Marjorie {dreamily). Yes. He told me why he has 
never married. There was a girl, years ago, whom he loved 
very much. She died, I think. He didn't tell me her 
name, but he said that sometimes I reminded him very 
much of her. He made me feel quite proud that I was like 
her. 

Esther. And what does he look like ? 

Marjorie. Oh, tall and well built, with fine eyes, but 
it's not so much his looks. 

Esther. And his hair? {Smiles.) I presume it's not 
red, or he could never be so popular. 

Marjorie. Oh, no, his hair is gray. 

Esther. Gray. Do you mean prematurely so ? Is he 
young ? 

Marjorie. No, he's not young. I thought I told you, 
he's quite old — he must be forty-five. That's why I had 
such confidence in him. 

Esther. Oh — I always thought, dear, that, well, never 
mind. But I hope my Marjorie is not going to be fickle. 

Marjorie {jumping up). Now you mustn't scold. On 
my first day at home, too. I shan't say anything more 
about him. Wait until you see him. I shall leave you to 
judge. 

Esther. To judge — what, Marjorie ? 

Marjorie. Well {pausing), well, to judge if he is not a 
friend worth having. 

Esther. And his name, Marjorie: — you haven't told me 
his name yet. 

Marjorie. His name — it's such a nice one — Richard 
Mortimer. (EiSTn^K rises and takes hold of chair.) Don't 
yon like it ? 

Esther {dazed). Richard Mortimer. 

(Marjorie walks about, examining curtain and bed guilt.) 

Marjorie. What's this old trunk doing here, Aunt 
Esilier? 

Esther. Richard — I wonder, after all these years. 

Marjorie. Oh, here's a little old-fashioned blue dress. 
Was it yours, Auntie ? » 



12 A KNOT OF WHITE RIBBON 

Esther. Yes. 

Marjorie. When did you wear it ? 
Esther (absently). Wear it? Oh — when I was a girl, 
in Roseville. 

{She goes and stands looking into fire.') 

Marjorie. Oh, see all the little tucks put in by hand. 
And the pretty white satin bow. I wonder if it would fit 
me. It would be fun to try it on. May I? (Esther 
does not hear her.) ' May I put it on, Aunt Esther ? 

Esther {turning suddenly). Put it on? Why, Mar- 
jorie, why 

Marjorie. Oh, yes, just for fun. It's so quaint and 
old-fashioned. I would look like you when you were a girl. 

Esther. No, no, don't put it on. 

Marjorie. Please let me. You never have denied me 
a harmless fancy. 

Esther. I'd rather you did not. 

Marjorie. I don't see what harm I would do it. 

Esther {slowly). Very well, put it on. 

Marjorie. Oh, thank you. I'll surprise Libbie. 

{Runs off R. with gown over arm. Esther sinks into 
chair and buries her face in her hands.) 

{Enter Libbie, l., carrying tray ivith tea things.) 

Libbie. A good cup o' tea is what you want. I know 
how I feel along about this time of day. {Puts tray on 
table.) Why, Miss Esther, ma'am, what's the trouble? 

Esther. Oh, nothing, nothing. 

(\^mm^ pours out a cup of tea and brings it to her.) 

Libbie. There, drink that and perhaps you'll feel better. 

Esther. Thank you. {Takes cup and with other hand 
clasps that of Libbie. ) I still have you left, Libbie. 

Libbie. I don't know jest rightly why you talk like this, 
but you'll have me till I'm taken out for the last time. Oh, 
is it that Miss Marjorie is going to leave us ? 

Esther. Perhaps. 

Libbie. I'm not surprised at that. It's no more than 
I've expected for a long time. I told you she wasn't a child 



A K.NOT OF WHITE RIBBON I3 

no more. And if she is going to be happy, that's all you 
want, ain't it, ma'am? 

Esther {tremulously). Of course — if she's happy. 
That's what I've lived for, to make Marjorie happy ; and 
after ail these years I surely ghould not hesitate. You do 
right to remind me of that, Libbie. She is young, I am 
old. 

Libbie. Depend on it, Miss Marjorie will always have 
you with her — no matter whom she marries. 

Esther {agitated). Oh, that would be impossible. I 
couldn't think of it. 

Libbie. You've been like a mother to her, I wouldn't 
think much of the man who would separate you. 

Esther. Oh, but you don't understand, you don't 
understand, Libbie. 

Libbie {cheerfully). I'll do my best if you'll explain to 
me, ma'am. 

Esther. Libbie, I have just heard that Mr. Mortimer — 
is alive. 

Libbie. Not Mr. Richard Mortimer. After all these 
years. You'll write to him then, to-day. 

Esther. No, no. 

{A ring at c. Esther starts and half rises from chair.) 

Libbie. Now, I wonder who that can be, on such a day. 
Mr. Jack, I guess. He's heard Miss Marjorie is home. 

{^Exit Libbie, l. Esther rises, puts down cup and leans 
on mantel.) 

{Enter Marjorie. She has a rose in her hair and carries 
the blue gown over her arm.) 

Marjorie. Oh, who was that at the door ? 

Esther. Libbie has gone to see. So you — you didn't 
put it on ? 

Marjorie. 'No. I was looking at those roses in my 
room. They are simply perfect. 

{Fats the rose in her hair, and glances in mirror. She 
still holds dress on her arm.) 

{Enter Libbie.) 

Libbie. My land, Miss Marjorie ! but you're the livin' 



14 A KNOT OF WHITE RIBBON 

image of your aunt when she was twenty. There, I can jest 
see her now with her bright hair and her little slim figure. 

Esther. Who was at the door, Libbie ? 

LiBBiE. A letter for Miss Marjorie with one of them 
special stamps. (Marjorie takes letter.^ I was sure it was 
Mr. Jack. He's eternally ringin' at the front door. 

Marjorie {eagerly). But not lately. 

Libbie. Well, he was here yesterday and the day before 
that and the day before that again. I guess you might call 
that lately. 

Marjorie. Oh, did he send those roses that are in ray 
room? 

Libbie. Oh, yes, he sent 'em, and some new books 
for you in the parlor. He's liber'l and good enough. If 
'twasn't for his hair. {Meaningly.') 

Marjorie {with feeling). Why didn't you tell me be- 
fore? You might have written. I've never heard 

And I wish you'd leave his hair alone, Libbie. He never 
did you any harm. 

Libbie. Sakes alive ! What next ? ' 

{Exits, crossly.) 

(Marjorie lays blue gown over the back of a chair, and 
breaks seal of letter, dropping envelope on floor.) 

Marjorie. Excuse me. Aunt Esther. ( Glances over it. ) 
It's from Mr. Mortimer. 
Esther. He writes — to you. 

(Marjorie is absorbed in her letter.) 

Marjorie. Oh, how strange ! — Oh, Aunt Esther — I 
never heard 

Esther. What is it ? What is it ? He's not ill — tell 
me quick. 

Marjorie {reproachfully and looking tfp). And you 
never told me. Here, take the letter. You must read it. 
It is meant for you. 

(Esther takes the letter.) 

Esther {reading aloud). "My dear Miss Marjorie: 
Your letter has just come in answer to my request for per- 
mission to call on you at your home. Why did you never 



A KNOT OF WHITE RIBBON If 

mention your aunt's name? You will perhaps remember 
my telling you of the young girl I loved years ago and of 
whom you so much reminded me. Now I know the reason 
of that resemblance. That girl, whom I thought dead, is 
your aunt." 

(Esther drops the letter and covers her face with her 
hands.') 

Marjorie. Oh, go on, go on. I read no further. 
Esther. I cannot 

(Marjorie goes to her, kneels beside her, and taking up the 
letter reads it.') 

Marjorie. "Eighteen years ago I went back to the old 
house in Roseville, and found it occupied by strangers. I 
heard that Esther Farling was dead. I have been all over 
the world since then trying to forget her, but I never did. 
When I saw you at the dance that evening your face brought 
back to me a rush of old memories. I was immensely 
attracted to you. I could not tell why. Now I know. 
Esther Farling is living. That is the wonderful thing I keep 
telling myself over and over. Now, my dear little friend, 
it is she who must write and tell me to come. I know you 
will understand. Tell her one word from her is enough. 
Sincerely yours, Richard Mortimer." {Puts the letter in 
her aunt's hands and rises.') And it was you ail the time, 
you. And you will write to him now. 

{Enter Libbie.) 

LiBBiE. 'Scuse me, please, ma'am, but there's Mr. Jack 
outside with a sleigh, and wants to take Miss Marjorie for 
a ride. I told him she was busy 

Marjorie. Why did you do that? 

LiBBiE. Well, he wouldn't take no for an answer. You 
know his way. 

Marjorie. Don't I, though? Tell him — no, never 
mind, I'll go myself. But promise me first, Aunt Esther, 
you will write. 

Esther. I will. 

Marjorie. Oh, Aunt Esther, I didn't tell the truth. I 
said I hated red hair, and I don't. I love it, I love it. 
(Starts to run off r., but sees the envelope where she has 



l6 A RNOT OF WHITE RIBBON 

dropped it on floor and picks it up.') Oh, there's something 
else in the envelope. {Falls out a knot of white ribbon.') 

Why, it's Oh, I know. {She takes tlie blue gown 

from cliair, lays the ribbon ifi its place against it, and holds 
both out to Esther.) Look, Aunt Esther! This belongs 
to the little blue gown, doesn't it? 

Esther {showing emotion). Yes, dear. 

Makjorie {forcing dress and ribbon into Esther's 
hands). Oh, Auntie, why didn't you tell me? 1 wouldn't 
have worn it for the world. I'm so glad I didn't even put 
it on. It is yours, Auntie. You must wear it — for him. 

Esther. Hush, child. I can't. I can't. 

Marjorie. Yes, you can. And you will write to him. 
{Whistle heard off .) Oh, there's Jack. These red-haired 
men are so impatient. Aunt Esther, you will write? 
Promise me. 

Esther. Well, I'll — yes, I will. 

Marjorie. To-day ! Now ! {Kisses her aunt.) Oh, 
Aunt Esther, I'm so happy, for — for both of us. {Whistle 
heard.) Yes, I'm coming. 

{Runs off R.) 

LiBBiE. Save and deliver us ! After her raisin', too. 
Dear knows what will happen next ! 

(Esther lays down the dress, but keeps the knot of white 
ribbon in her hand.) 

Esther. Yes, dear knows, Libbie. Well, I promised 
her. Get me the pen and ink, please, quickly. {Goes to 
table.) Paper, yes, here's some. (JSits. Ia^bie, brings her 
pen atid ink.) Thank you, Libbie. I'm going to write a 
letter — to Mr. Richard Mortimer. To think he kept it all 
these years — that little knot of white ribbon — all these 
years. 

{Sleigh-bells are heard off r. Esther sits at desk. One 
hand holds pen, poised over paper. The other holds the 
ribbon, at which she looks doivn, smiling.) 



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Do you want to be an Orator 

Do you want to be a Teacher 
of Elocution 

Do you want to be a Public 
Reader 

Do you want to improve your 
conversation 

Do you want training in Physi- 
cal Culture 

Do you want to increase your 
power in any direction 




A CATALOGUE GIVING FULL INFORMA- 
MATION AS TO HOW ANY OF THESE AC- 
COMPLISHMENTS MAY BE ATTAINED 
WILL BE SENT FREE ON REQUEST 



The National School of 
Elocution and Oratory 

Temple Building Philadelphia 



